The World May Be Ending, But
by Feathersong-8D
Summary: Supernatural Season 11x22 Coda/Fix-It (depending on how the first part of the finale goes!) Amara has vanished, Chuck is fading fast, yet Dean's main concern, as ever, is Castiel. Sam may or may not be finding this both infuriating and adorable.


Sam managed to make the first move. He let out a grunt as he clambered to his feet, and, staggering slightly, made a beeline straight for Chuck's motionless body.

Dean was roused from his daze as Sam strode past him, and slumped his shoulders as the severity of their situation set in, squeezing his eyes shut in a pained wince. Sam was clearly of sounder mind at this moment, and was ready to leap into action. But too much had happened in the last few minutes for Dean to even _begin_ to contemplate what they were going to do now.

Amara was gone. Lucifer was (apparently) gone. God was going, going, _nearly_ gone, and there hadn't been any sign of Rowena since the battle begun. Probably to make another shady deal with the nearest evil entity to guarantee herself safety, or a casual passage back in time like she originally intended, as she'd disgustedly complained to Crowley about. Her lack of sense of priority both unnerved and amused Dean. Right now, instinct was telling Dean to bolt out of the door – if his battered legs would carry him _–_ and leap into the impala with Sam and Cas, slam on the ignition and drive - drive the heck away from this mess, and hole themselves up in a motel and pray for a miracle. Who would he be praying to? At this point, Dean was almost beyond caring. Beyond caring about most things. As ever, the world was at stake, and Dean wished he could be selfish enough to turn a blind eye.

But, as ever, the Winchesters had to face the consequences of their actions.

Yet he couldn't even bring himself to look at Castiel's body.

Opening his eyes reluctantly and lifting his head to hastily survey the damage, he saw Sam kneeling next to Chuck, hunter instinct and lack of an obvious course of action having told him to do the smart thing and check for any signs of life. Dean was certain he'd seen the puny guy's leg twitch before Amara fucked off – as long as that wasn't his mind playing tricks on him _–_ so this bought them some time. To the right, there was an ugly scorch mark on the ground where Amara had been standing, and the annoyingly unscathed body of Fergus MacLeod was lying a few feet behind; God – or should he say Chuck? Ugh, who knows, man - only knew if and when Crowley would return, or if he'd even be willing to lend a hand with the situation any more. It had been difficult enough to persuade the conceited king to help in the first place, even when there was a solid plan and an actual chance of victory – now they were back at square minus-one, they'd be lucky if Crowley so much as showed up to tip a metaphorical hat and wish them a happy apocalypse. Screw the bastard.

Far to Dean's right, precisely where he'd been avoiding resting his gaze, he saw the beaten form of Castiel's/Lucifer's vessel slumped against the wall, where that utter bitch had flung him like some kind of ragdoll, before exorcising what he _hoped_ had been Lucifer. Though he'd never witnessed an angelic exorcism like that before. His stomach pitched as realisation set in, and he made a pained effort to stand. _Oh God._

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he strode over to the body. Even from a few feet away, Dean could see this vessel had been through a lot; callous-like areas of injury were protruding from under the edge of the dirty white shirt collar, and the skin itself had a sickly yellow tinge, bearing a striking resemblance to that of a sick human. Kneeling down - whether to get a better look or to ensure he didn't keel over at the sight of Cas' vessel in this condition, Dean wasn't sure - still keeping his distance slightly, he gingerly pulled away the clothing to reveal significantly more ugly wounds and gashes. It was inevitable that containing two angelic entities was going to all but break any vessel, but Lucifer had seemed to be keeping it in good nick while he was in possession of it. Now he'd gone, he'd all but left scars behind. And Dean was afraid that these scars weren't just external.

He was trying to avoid looking at Cas' face, but with the rest of the battered vessel directly in front of him, it was getting harder to ignore. In an effort to accept the inevitable, he forced himself to turn his gaze upwards.

Thanks to the weird angelic not-breathing thing, there was no easy way of confirming that there was still life in the vessel through something as simple as a pulse check. The angel's inability to sleep had also always freaked the heck out of Dean; not to mention made him wonder how often this meant Cas pulled an Edward Cullen and watched him sleep. He knew he did it – even more so after the whole demon-mark of Cain fiasco. Or at least he used to. Lucifer sort of got in the way of that. Ugh, he needed to stop it with the emotional ' _was_ 's and ' _used to_ 's. _Focus, goddamnit._

To his relief, Cas' facial expression appeared softer somehow; when Lucifer had been strutting around in the vessel, the face of his friend had been twisted into a state of constant bemused mocking and a variety of disconcerting grins. It was so unlike Cas that it had made Dean feel physically ill. At least now there was some potential indication that Cas was home alone in the vessel. Whether or not they'd be able to rouse him was another matter.

Clearing his throat quietly, fully aware that Sam had now turned away from Chuck to watch (whether or not Sam was going to bear Dean good news about his state was another matter), he braced himself for the worst, ignoring the fact that his bottom lip was quavering.

'Cas?'

Dean's voice hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut once more. This was too much. _Dammit, Cas._

'Cas, man, you in there?' Dean clamped a hand on the angel's shoulder, tentatively thumbing the tan material of the trenchcoat. 'Hey man, you know Chu- God's here, right?' He forced a grin, the sides of his mouth twitching as he became aware of his voice cracking further. 'Lucifer's been hogging the limelight for too long; I bet God is dying to meet you in the flesh-'

Sam coughed awkwardly, and Dean briefly glanced over his shoulder to see Sam shake his head uncomfortably. Oh yeah, God actually dying over here. To say there was a time constraint would be an understatement. And still nothing from the slumped figure in front of him. This was _not_ looking good. But hell if Dean was leaving without him. Or even leaving him here. It was beginning to look like they'd be left with no choice. He cleared his throat again, desperation setting in further.

He scooted over until he was crouched directly in front of the angel. 'Hey, Cas, buddy, _please_ ,' he said, his face dropping. 'We need you back for this. With or without your mojo, we can't win this without you.'

With or without your mojo. _Dammit,_ Dean fumed, _I don't give a rat's arse about whether or not he's fired up with angel juice. And I'd much rather he wasn't shoved into a tiny corner of his vessel for the sake of a better chance of defeating Amara._ _He's worth much more than that_.

Shit _._ Did Cas really think he was worth that little? _Shit._

Sam's voice behind him startled Dean out of his daze. 'Dean, we, uh,' he mumbled, his voice taking a lower, gentler tone than usual. Dean noticed with a tinge of frustration that his brother was trying to drag him away. 'We better head outside. There's something wrong. _Really_ wrong.'

Dean gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow. 'Dammit, Sam, I'm not leaving here without him.'

Sam exhaled soundlessly, wearing an expression mixed between vague fear and frustration, and began practically fidgeting on the spot. His concern for Cas was evident, but something was really eating at him. Probably something to do with the eerie red light that was all but seeping out of the window and into the basement room, which was casting the beginnings of an unnatural crimson tint on the angel's skin. They really were running out of time.

Dean returned his gaze to Cas, and began all but pleading, a hint of urgency now very evident in his voice

'Come _on_ Cas, snap out of it. If you're in there, we need you. I know you're in there, you son of a bitch, so flap your angelic ass out here right damn now.' Dean shook the angel by the shoulders with both hands now, his grip tightening in a frantic effort to rouse him.

 _Cas doesn't think he's useful. Is that what all this is about? Did he really think so little of himself that letting friggin_ Lucifer _possess him was the better option? Oh, God._

'Cas, I need you to wake up. Any time about now would be great.'

No response.

Sam was gritting his teeth. ' _Dean._ '

Dean ignored him, his voice rising, and his face moving closer to the angel's. 'Cas, we can't do this without you.

A scuffling sound followed by a frantic yet familiar clip-clop of heels could be heard from outside. Sam whipped his head around, and rushed to the doorway.

Dean's voice lowered to a distressed murmur. 'I can't do this without you, Cas. This is bad, man, _really bad.'_ He exhaled shakily, tipping his head forward and continuing in what was now a distressed whisper. _'_ I don't know how we're going to get out of this one, _'_ he choked, 'but I need you to wake the heck up and tell me it'll be okay; that we can still defeat Amara together.' Silence.

Sam burst into the room with Rowena in tow, her noisy heels now dragging on the ground as she leaned on Sam for support. Any other time and Dean would have been baffled at the sight, but he was facing in the opposite direction, and was now leaning so close to Cas that their blood-encrusted foreheads were almost touching.

'Son of a bitch, Cas. You're not allowed to give up on us, on _me_ , after all we've been through. You are _not_ expendable, you hear me? You've been treated like utter garbage for the last few weeks, years, millennia, whatever, and you don't think you deserve better than being consumed by the devil and _damn near killed_ by the Darkness herself,' Dean's voice quavered, and he reached up from the angel's shoulder with his left hand to cup his cheek. He failed to notice the angel's eyes fluttering and his mouth gaping open slightly, and carried on, his voice raw with emotion and injury. 'But you're wrong, Cas. You're worth so much more than angelic mojo and – you're worth more to _me._ And I'm begging you, Cas, _come back.'_ His eyes clouded over and he bowed his head once again. ' _I really need you to._ '

Sam, meanwhile, had managed to stagger over to the side of the room with Rowena. He lowered her to the ground against a wall, and she winced loudly, snapping Dean's attention away from Cas momentarily. He observed her in shock, his hand not leaving the angel's face. Her eyes initially narrowed to slits in agony, she blinked open an eye and proceeded to gasp in horror at the sight of Chuck's body. 'God _almighty_!' she cried, aghast. 'Is he-'

Dean felt a movement underneath his hand, and whirled around in shock to face Cas, who too was blinking his eyes open and grimacing in pain.

'Dead? No. But we haven't got much time.' Castiel responded almost immediately in his familiar gravelly tone. His eyes darted around the room before settling upon Dean, who was still only a few inches away. He raised a hand to where Dean was still cupping his cheek, and grabbed onto Dean's wrist, holding his other arm out for support. Leaping into action, and spurred from his stupor, Dean grabbed him around his waist and helped the angel to his feet, a wave of incredulity and relief passing over him.

From the other side of the room, Sam let out a loud breath of laughter. 'Man, Cas,' he crowed happily, beaming, 'it's real good to see you again.'

Now fully on his feet, Cas turned in Sam's direction and nodded gratefully, before beginning to take in his surroundings. Dean wondered how much – or little – he'd been able to actually see while Lucifer had control. 'You too, Sam,' he responded with a small smile, some light visibly returning to his eyes.

His hand was still gripping Dean's wrist.

'Ehem?' Rowena huffed, an indignant glare on her face, obviously feeling forgotten. She seemed to have recovered. 'In case you boys haven't noticed, the world actually might be ending out there.' Sam and – more reluctantly - Dean turned their attention back to the witch, who was now staring at them incredulously, as if she was genuinely expecting them to start leaping around and resurrecting God and saving the world. Which probably wasn't the worst idea in the world.

Sam chuckled under his breath despite himself, exchanging an amused look with Dean. It may be the end of the world, but some things never changed. Then his face took on a more solemn expression as he turned to Rowena to drill her for information, and her high-pitched storytelling soon became the centre of Sam's attention. Dean turned his attention to the angel. He relaxed his grip on Castiel's waist, but before he could utter the obvious ' _Are you okay?'_ , the angel was turning around slowly to face him. His face was glued to the floor.

'Cas, what-'

'Dean, I'm sorry,' Castiel croaked, his voice taking on a lower tone. 'I'm sorry for all the pain that I caused you and Sam. I just wanted-'

Dean reached for the angel's wrist again to cut him off. '-You just wanted to help. Oh God, Cas, _I know_. But we need _you_ more than we need anyone else right now, save God himself over here. That includes Lucifer, _which_ , by the way, was perhaps _not_ your finest decision. But _man_ , Cas, I'm just so glad you're okay.' By this point, Dean couldn't take it anymore, and, shaking his head in sheer and utter relief, engulfed the angel in a crushing hug. This had been a long time coming, and he wanted to ensure Cas knew he meant every word. Dean clung onto the trenchcoat fabric with all he had, burrowing his face into Cas' shoulder; and to his delight, the angel clung back.

As he pulled away, however, he noticed the angel was still staring at the ground. Dean frowned. Now for the formalities. 'Are you feeling okay?'

'Dean,' Castiel faced him now; his eyes, if Dean wasn't mistaken, were clouded with emotion. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply as if to prepare himself for what he was about to say. 'When I was regaining control of my vessel, I thought I heard-' he cleared his throat as if to compose himself, while Dean looked on in confusion. 'I heard- your voice. Talking,' He broke off, clearly struggling.

As seemed genuinely incapable of stumbling through this, Dean decided to take the wheel. 'Then you know what I said,' he chose this moment to take the angel's hand in his own. 'And you know that I meant every word.'

Castiel chose that moment to make direct eye contact with Dean, his mouth gaping open slightly in incredulity.

It honestly broke Dean's heart that this was news to the angel. That he _wasn't_ expendable. But it also warmed him right to the core to know that Castiel finally understood. Even if it had taken the best part of seven years.

'We need you, Cas. _I_ need you.'

Castiel's face broke out into a massive grin, and Dean followed suit. And if he wasn't mistaken, the angel's hand was now clutched in his own, but he wasn't about to break eye contact.

Sam suddenly appeared a few feet away from them. 'You guys, the world is legitimately ending out there.' He was clearly nervous, but the tell-tale signs of a grin were creeping from the corners of his mouth at the display in front of him. 'We should probably do something.'

Dean's beam brightened even further. 'Yep,' he said, nodding at Cas. ' _We_ should.'


End file.
